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About Bob W Christian

Bob W Christian has been writing poetry for more than 20 years. He started as a way to help to process his thoughts and emotions as an autistic man, and to address the impact of CPTSD. As he wrote, and slowly gained the confidence to share his poems, he was given incredibly positive feedback, which spurred him to write more. During that time, he has written six books, and had numerous guest publications in books and magazines around the world. His work has earned several accolades recently, including recognition in the Dark Poet’s Club 2025 competition. Alongside poetry, Bob enjoys photographing nature and birds, and is often praised for his keen eye behind the lens. (One of the official photographers Torbay Pride 26) A husband, father and grandfather, he regularly shares his observations, reflections and creative work through his personal blog, The Ramblings of Bob Christian.

Sometimes Turning Around is the Hardest Thing.

What’s a lesson you’ve learned recently that shifted your perspective?

I’ve realised recently that it’s far easier to give up on someone than it is to find a way back to them.

Walking away is easy.

Rebuilding a bridge? That’s the difficult bit.

A little while ago I had a serious falling out with a family member. They’d been rude, self-obsessed and, to make matters worse, £75 disappeared from my bank account. It would have been a lot more had the bank not stepped in. Whether they took it themselves or knowingly allowed someone else to, the trust I’d placed in them vanished overnight.

I confronted them.

They reacted.

I reacted.

Two adults behaving like stubborn children, storming off in opposite directions, both convinced we were in the right.

Now, before anyone starts polishing my halo, let me be perfectly clear.

I’m no saint.

I shouldn’t have flown off the handle. I was angry, hurt and betrayed, and those emotions rarely produce our best work. Looking back, I probably should have left it alone for a couple of weeks, let the smoke clear and the dust settle, then reached out with a simple question.

“Fancy getting the tools out and rebuilding this bridge?”

Maybe the answer would still have been no.

Maybe nothing would have changed.

But at least I’d have known I’d tried.

Life has a habit of reminding us that tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. I’ve promised people I’d see them again, only for life to have other plans. Those are the moments that stay with you, and I’d hate to repeat that mistake because pride got the final say.

Now, don’t get me wrong. Some relationships are genuinely toxic, and walking away is absolutely the right thing to do. This isn’t about putting up with abuse or pretending betrayal doesn’t hurt.

It’s about recognising that not every argument deserves a permanent ending.

Sometimes people make terrible decisions.

Sometimes we say things we wish we hadn’t.

Sometimes we’re both waiting for the other person to make the first move.

The lesson I’ve learned is that forgiveness and reconciliation aren’t signs of weakness. They’re often far harder than anger.

So if you’re in the middle of a row with someone you genuinely care about, perhaps let the dust settle before deciding the bridge needs demolishing.

Because when the emotions have cooled, it’s worth asking yourself one simple question.

In the cold light of day, is this really worth losing someone over?

Sometimes the answer will be yes.

But more often than we’d probably like to admit…

It’s no.

Stay safe,

Bc

A Good Night’s Sleep Doesn’t Happen by Accident

What do you do to improve your sleep?

A good night’s sleep is incredibly important, and I’m sure you’re already aware of many of the benefits. Quality sleep helps bolster your immune system, protects your cardiovascular health, balances the hormones that regulate hunger, and makes it easier to maintain a healthy weight. Mentally, it’s just as important. Sleep consolidates memories, clears waste products from the brain, and improves emotional resilience, helping to reduce stress and anxiety.

So, how do I improve my sleep?

Like many autistic people, I love a good routine, and in this case, I think it has definitely worked in my favour.

About ten or fifteen minutes before I want to go to sleep, I stop whatever I’m watching or doing and put on some calming meditation music. I actually have one particular track on YouTube that I’ve been using for years. Those few minutes allow me to unwind and mentally let go of the day’s frustrations, confrontations and negative thoughts before I even get into bed.

Once I’m feeling more relaxed, I’ll climb into bed and read a few pages from my latest QI Book of Facts. Reading something enjoyable—but not too stimulating—helps signal to my brain that it’s time to switch off.

When it’s finally time to sleep, I ask my smart speaker to play white noise. Personally, I find the sound of heavy rain works best for me. It helps block out background noise and creates a familiar environment that my brain now associates with sleep.

I’ve followed this routine for many years. Is it perfect? No.

I still occasionally wake up screaming or experience night terrors, but I can honestly say that sticking to this routine has reduced both the frequency and severity of those episodes by around 85%. That’s been life-changing for me.

Will this exact routine work for everyone? Probably not. But it’s certainly worth experimenting until you find something that suits you. Sleep isn’t one-size-fits-all, and sometimes the smallest changes make the biggest difference.

The other thing I’ve found incredibly beneficial—and the science backs this up—is keeping a regular sleep schedule.

Going to bed and waking up at roughly the same time every day helps regulate your body’s natural circadian rhythm. Research has shown that consistent sleep patterns can significantly reduce the risk of depression compared with irregular sleeping habits. In fact, maintaining a regular routine is often just as important as getting the recommended seven to nine hours of sleep each night.

For me, good sleep doesn’t happen by accident. It’s something I prepare for.

A simple routine, a calm mind, a good book, the sound of rain, and a consistent bedtime have all helped me sleep better than I ever used to. If you’re struggling with sleep, don’t be afraid to try different approaches until you find your own routine.

Sometimes, the best night’s sleep starts long before your head hits the pillow.

Stay safe

Bc

The Tenant in My Chest Doesn’t Believe in Moving Out

What’s the best way to deal with negative thoughts?

If depression were a person—
I think I’d meet them at dawn.

Not noon,
not when the world is loud with pretending,

but dawn—
when the sky is still deciding
whether it wants to be light.

We’d sit somewhere quiet.
Somewhere the shadows
are still stretching their long black limbs
across the pavement.

And I’d ask—

Coffee?

Black.
Bitter.
The kind that tastes
like the inside of my chest.

And maybe we wouldn’t talk.

Maybe we’d just sit there
with silence
heavy enough
to fold over us like wet laundry.

Because some silences
don’t sit politely between people—

some silences
press down
like a lead blanket
you didn’t ask for
but can’t kick off.

And eventually
I’d look them in the eyes and say—

Why?

Why do you stay so long?

Why do you set up camp
in the corners of my mind
like you’ve signed a lease
with my worst thoughts?

Because you laugh in places
that used to echo with music.

You sit in rooms
that used to be full of friends.

You whisper things like:

You’re not enough.
You’re not enough.
You’re not enough.

And sometimes
I try to fight you.

My fists clench like punctuation marks.
I swing at the air
like anger might connect with something solid.

Every punch saying:

Leave.
Leave.
Leave.

But depression
is the kind of opponent
that doesn’t bruise.

It just waits.

Cold fingers wrapped around the ribs
like it’s checking
to make sure my lungs
remember how to struggle.

And sometimes
I don’t fight.

Sometimes I hide.

Under blankets.
Under excuses.
Under the quiet lie of

“I’m just tired today.”

The world outside becomes muffled—
like life is happening
through three closed doors
and a wall of water.

But the worst part?

You never leave.

You’re not a visitor.
You’re a roommate
who never pays rent.

Sometimes I run.

God, I run.

Feet pounding pavement
like I can outrun the gravity in my chest.

I chase small joys
like they’re fireflies—

laughter with friends
the color of sunrise
the sudden miracle
of feeling okay
for three whole minutes.

But you—

you are always
one breath
behind me.

Breathing doubt
into the rhythm of my pulse.

So I wonder…

What if instead
of fighting
or hiding
or running—

What if I invited you in?

Sat you down.

Poured you tea.

Listened.

Maybe you’d tell me
about all the broken places
you were born from.

Maybe I’d understand
how you twist my memories
into evidence—
how every mistake
becomes another stone
in the pockets of my chest.

And maybe
in that strange understanding
we’d become something like dancers—

two tired souls
moving in a slow, aching waltz
trying not to step
on each other’s pain.

But listen—

If depression were a person
standing in front of me
right now—

I wouldn’t destroy them.

I wouldn’t run.

I’d look them in the eye
and say:

I know you’re hurting too.

But you don’t get
to be my whole story.

And maybe—
just maybe—

we’d call a truce.

A fragile one.

The kind where light
slips through the cracks
in the walls you built.

The kind where hope
doesn’t roar—

it flickers.

Small.

Stubborn.

Like a candle
that refuses
to go out.

(c)BobChristian

Funny How Life Changes You

What do you love now, that you hated when you were younger?

This one is surprisingly easy to answer.

When I was younger, weekends were for going out. Loud music, crowded clubs, late nights, and the belief that if you weren’t out doing something, you were somehow missing out.

These days?

You’ll find me happily doing the exact opposite.

Give me a quiet Friday evening in the garden with Mrs Bob, listening to the birds settling down for the night instead of someone shouting over music that’s three decibels short of causing structural damage.

Give me an early night and eight hours of uninterrupted sleep over crawling into bed just as the sun is thinking about getting up.

Give me staying in over clubbing every single time.

Perhaps the biggest surprise of all is that I’ve learned to appreciate my own company. As an autistic bloke, a veteran, and now a proudly grumpy fifty-year-old hermit, I’ve finally realised that peace isn’t something you find in the middle of a crowd.

Sometimes it’s found in silence.

Sometimes it’s found with a mug of coffee, a good book, or simply watching the garden grow.

And more often than not, it’s found sitting beside Mrs Bob, neither of us saying very much, because after all these years we’ve discovered that the best conversations don’t always need words.

It’s funny how the things we once avoided become the very things we treasure.

Maybe that’s not getting old.

Maybe that’s simply learning what happiness actually looks like.

Stay safe,

Bc

When Your Gut Knows Before Your Head Does

What’s a time you followed your gut and it turned out to be exactly right?

People often say you should trust your instincts, but if we’re honest, that’s much easier said than done.

Logic has a habit of barging into the conversation, armed with spreadsheets, pros and cons, and a long list of reasons why doing something completely mad is… well… completely mad.

Fourteen years ago, I found myself standing at one of those crossroads.

I’d met Mrs Bob and, after we’d been talking for a while, the conversation turned to something that, on paper, seemed utterly bonkers. I would sell up, leave my engineering career at Rolls-Royce Aerospace, and move 250 miles away to the beautifully strange little town of Totnes.

Think about that for a moment.

A secure job.
Family close by.
Friends I’d known for years.
A familiar life.

And I’d be giving it all up for a woman I’d only recently met.

If I’d listened purely to my head, I’d probably still be sat there making lists of reasons why it couldn’t possibly work.

But there was something else.

A quiet feeling deep down that simply said, this matters.

Not because it made logical sense.

Not because there were guarantees.

Just because it felt like the beginning of something incredibly special.

So I took the leap.

Looking back now, fourteen years later, I can honestly say my gut got it absolutely right.

Totnes has become home. I’ve become part of the local community, met some wonderful people, discovered opportunities I could never have imagined, and built a life with Mrs Bob that has been richer than I ever expected.

Of course, following your instincts doesn’t always mean everything is easy. There have been challenges, unexpected turns and moments where we’ve wondered what comes next. That’s just life.

But I’ve never once looked back and wished I’d stayed where I was, simply because it felt safer.

Sometimes your gut isn’t asking you to ignore common sense. It’s asking you to recognise something your heart has spotted long before your brain catches up.

Not every leap works out.

But every now and then, your instincts quietly whisper the truth before the evidence arrives.

Mine certainly did.

And for that, I’ll always be grateful.

Stay safe,

BC

Superman/Wayne 2028

Emperor Palpatine has announced open elections for a new Emperor — and he’s nominated Darth Vader. You get to nominate one challenger.

Every now and then the internet throws out a wonderfully ridiculously geeky question.

This is one of those moments.

The Galactic Empire has decided to embrace democracy. (Yes, I know. Stay with me.) Emperor Palpatine has announced open elections for a new Emperor, and his chosen successor is none other than Darth Vader.

An intimidating candidate, certainly.

Strong leadership credentials.

Questionable HR record.

Now, my nomination?

It has to be Kal-El, better known to most people as Clark Kent or Superman.

Not because he is the strongest person in the room. Although that certainly helps.

Not because he could flatten the Death Star without breaking a sweat.

But because power has never really been what Superman is about.

He was raised by ordinary people who taught him kindness over cruelty, compassion over conquest, and responsibility over personal gain. Despite possessing the ability to rule through fear, he consistently chooses service instead.

That, to me, is what makes a leader.

Imagine the campaign posters now…

Superman/Wayne ’28

Bruce Wayne handling the economy.

Clark Kent reminding everyone that saving people still matters.

Alfred quietly running the entire administration while pretending he is “just making tea.”

Meanwhile, poor Darth Vader would be trying to explain why force-choking political opponents should still count as a legitimate debate tactic.

Mind you…

There is one rather awkward elephant standing in the polling station.

Dr. Manhattan.

Technically speaking, if he decided he wanted the job, elections would become something of a formality.

When you perceive time all at once, reconstruct yourself atom by atom, and possess abilities bordering on outright divinity, democracy starts looking more like a courtesy than a necessity.

Thankfully, unlike Palpatine, Dr. Manhattan has never seemed particularly interested in governing anyone. Which is probably fortunate for everyone involved.

So yes.

My vote goes to Superman.

Because sometimes the strongest leader is simply the one who still believes people are worth saving.

Stay safe,

Bc

When Breaking the Rules Isn’t the Biggest Crime

There’s a question that’s been rattling around my head lately.

The sort of question that turns up uninvited while you’re making a brew, staring out the window, or trying to switch your brain off at two in the morning.

It’s this:

If someone breaks the rules…
but does it to expose injustice, protect vulnerable people, or force society to confront something ugly it would rather ignore…

Are they still wrong?

Now before anyone starts clutching pearls and screaming “criminal apologist” into the comments section — hear me out.

Because history gets very awkward when we pretend the law and morality are always the same thing.

They aren’t.

They’ve never been.

Women fighting for the right to vote broke laws.
Trade unionists broke laws.
People hiding persecuted families during wars broke laws.
Civil rights protesters broke laws.

And at the time? Society often called them dangerous.

Funny how hindsight turns “troublemakers” into heroes once enough years pass.

Take groups like Anonymous exposing tax avoidance schemes or hacking corporations they believe are exploiting the system. Or activists protesting companies like ATOS over the treatment of disabled people during benefit assessments.

Now, I’m not saying every action taken in those movements was right. Some crossed lines. Some undoubtedly harmed innocent people. Some were driven by anger more than wisdom.

But here’s where it gets morally messy:

If institutions with power refuse to listen peacefully…
what exactly are desperate people supposed to do?

Sit quietly?

Wait politely?

Fill out the correct forms while people suffer?

Because one thing life has taught me is this:

People rarely disrupt comfort unless they feel ignored.

Most people don’t wake up one morning and think,
“You know what would be fun? Risking arrest.”

Usually there’s frustration behind it.
Pain behind it.
Sometimes desperation behind it.

And society has an interesting habit of condemning the reaction while conveniently ignoring the cause.

That doesn’t magically make illegal acts morally pure, of course.

Hurting innocent people is still wrong.
Destroying lives for “the greater good” is still dangerous territory.
Self-righteousness can become its own kind of tyranny if left unchecked.

But I do think there’s a difference between greed-driven crime and conscience-driven disobedience.

One asks:
“What can I take?”

The other asks:
“How do I force people to look?”

And perhaps that’s the uncomfortable bit.

Civil disobedience embarrasses society.
It pulls hidden things into the light.
It forces conversations many would rather avoid because they threaten comfort, power, or profit.

The problem is that morality isn’t tidy.

We desperately want clear villains and heroes because ambiguity makes us uneasy.

But real life lives in the grey areas.

A hacker exposing corruption may also break privacy laws.
A protester blocking roads may also stop an ambulance.
A whistleblower may ruin careers while revealing truths that needed exposing.

Human beings are complicated creatures carrying both good intentions and flawed execution in the same hands.

Personally?

I think intent matters.
Consequences matter too.

And perhaps the real question isn’t:
“Was the law broken?”

Perhaps it’s:
“Why did people feel breaking it was the only way left to be heard?”

Because if enough people are willing to risk punishment just to expose suffering, corruption, or inequality…

Maybe the bigger societal failure happened long before the protest began.

Stay safe,

Bc

I Keep Counting Anyway

Every morning
before the sun stretches itself across my window,
before my coffee tastes like anything but bitter,
happiness hides.

She’s crouched behind the blinds,
folded into the corner of yesterday’s pillow,
laughing quietly at me
as if I don’t know how to look for her.

I try.

I try like I know her favorite hiding spots,
like I know the exact way she breathes when she’s shy,
like I can coax her out with half-empty mugs
and songs that smell like home.

But she moves.

Slips under the fridge,
slides into the cracks of my bathroom tiles,
hides in the sound of my keys clattering
like she’s daring me to follow.

So I do.

I follow.

And sometimes,
just sometimes,
she peeks out
like a shy smile from a stranger in a crowded street.

For that moment,
my chest remembers what it’s like to be full,
and I swear
I hear the echo of her saying,

you found me again.

Then she disappears.

And I swear I’ll find her tomorrow.

Because happiness
isn’t something that knocks politely.

It is a professional hide-and-seek champion,
undefeated for as long as I’ve known her.

And me?

I am the kid counting with my eyes closed,
hands over my face,
promising the dark that I’m still playing.

Every morning,

before the day can tell me who I need to be,

I start searching.

(c)BobChristian

The Right Book at the Right Time

What’s a piece of media (book, movie, song) that changed how you see the world?

This is a very tough choice, truth be told.

There’s obviously The Watchmen, my first ever graphic novel, which started a lifelong love affair with comic books that’s still going strong today.

Then there’s String Theory for Dummies, the book that accidentally sparked a conversation with what is now Mrs Bob.

Both of those deserve posts of their own, and I’m fairly sure I’ve rambled about them before.

But if I had to choose the one piece of media that genuinely changed the direction of my life, it would be…

Wicca: A Guide for the Solitary Practitioner by Scott Cunningham.

This book came into my life at exactly the right moment.

At the time, my life was an absolute mess. I was going through a particularly nasty breakup, carrying around a lot of anger, hurt and resentment. Looking back, I also realise I was an autistic man who hadn’t yet been diagnosed, trying to make sense of emotions I simply didn’t have the tools to process.

Then someone showed me kindness.

A witch, who had once found comfort in the very same book herself, passed it on to me.

It wasn’t a book about casting spells that changed me.

It was a book about responsibility.

About balance.

About understanding that every action has consequences.

The lesson that has stayed with me happened shortly afterwards.

My ex broke into my home, took a lot of our belongings and trashed much of what she left behind.

The old me would probably have jumped in the car, driven straight over there and made the whole situation infinitely worse.

Instead, something clicked.

For the first time, I understood that anger wouldn’t repair my home.

It wouldn’t replace what had been stolen.

It wouldn’t heal what had happened.

All it would do was make me ill, and give the people who had hurt me the satisfaction of knowing they’d got exactly the reaction they wanted.

Walking away wasn’t weakness.

It was peace.

That one lesson changed everything.

It led me to read more about Wicca, which in turn eventually led me towards Mahāyāna Buddhism. Although they’re very different paths, both encouraged me to slow down, look inward and understand that my mental and physical wellbeing are deeply interconnected.

Those philosophies helped me become a calmer person.

A happier husband.

A better father.

A better grandfather.

They’ve also influenced the way I write, the way I see people, and the compassion I try to show others.

Without that one book…

Without the kindness of the woman who first placed it into my hands…

I honestly don’t know where I’d be.

There’s every chance I’d have let my anger make decisions for me.

And when anger starts making your decisions, the ending is rarely a good one.

Sometimes the books that change your life aren’t the bestselling novels or the classics everyone studies at school.

Sometimes they’re simply the right book…

Arriving at exactly the right time.

Stay safe,

Bc

Be Careful What You Rewrite

If you could change the ending of any book, which one would it be?


Honestly, none of them.

Changing the ending sounds simple enough, but stories are a bit like dominoes. Nudge the last piece and, sooner or later, you discover you had to move all the others too.

To reach a different ending, you’d have to change the journey that led there.

Which raises two questions:

A) Would it still be the same book you’d fallen in love with?

B) Could one small change create a plot twist so drastic that the story ends early—or never happens at all?

It’s the literary version of the butterfly effect.

Change the ending, and you might just change everything that made the story worth reading in the first place.

Stay safe,

Bc